


Bruises

by meganechansan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meganechansan/pseuds/meganechansan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill: Dorian doesn't believe in love, Cullen convinces him of the contrary.</p><p>"Love doesn't exist, amatus."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> A fill to a friend's prompt : so how abou a Dorian who got betrayed and doesn't believe in love, but then Cullen happens and idk
> 
> :'D Nen, I believe I got too carried away I'm so sorry hahaha :'D

It's easy to drown at night. Sometimes it's just a matter of forgetting how everything is slowly fading, how this is just something temporary, how in any moment they could all die and nobody would even know. Sometimes his mind torments him with thoughts and _you really think they will remember you? Are you really that conceited? You're an abomination, Dorian, who would love you?_

The voices in his head are sometimes familiar, sometimes barely there memories from years past. And sometimes, it's his own young, broken voice making him drown.

_Why won't anybody stay?_

There are nights in which he wakes up gasping, memories of bony fingers and ghastly hands gripping him tight, holding him against the damp, cold floor and pain, unbearable pain and blood dripping into the stone as they carve him alive slowly, as they cut and scrape and pull at his insides, tearing, ripping him apart as if looking for something, anything they could take and change and it hurts, he can't breathe, he drowns and screams and chokes and gasps until his voice is broken, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and _please, stop this father, I'm dying, it hurts so much._

Sometimes it's just the thought of how maybe this could all end, and even though he thinks and jokes about how he could go back home, he doesn't really have a place to call that.

So he drinks.

Because it's easy to let go, laugh and joke, pretend that he never feels afraid, pretend that he's just one of the many others that take a chance at whoever offers some comfort for the night, be it words or a body warming him in hurried gasps and trembling sighs of his name that only leave him hollow when he wakes up by himself.

Love is forbidden. Too much and then nothing. Love is the memory of a hand playing with his hair while a gentle voice sings and laughs at his voice mimicking them and then only pain, his father on the doorstep, the same hand pulling at his hair and throwing him away, soft voice speaking in cruel coldness of poor little Dorian who begs and takes it like a whore and _do you really think love exists? Of course not, you fool. Who would love something so rotten and miserable? Who could love you?_

He laughs, taking the biggest gulp he can of the bottle in his hands and letting the liquid burn down his throat, give himself an excuse for the sting and burn behind his eyelids.

_Love doesn't exist, **amatus.**_

"I'd like to believe it does, Dorian." 

A heartbeat. He looks up from his seat under the window, the candles having died long ago and the little corner only illuminated by the dim light filtering through the window. He's sitting against one of the bookshelves, distinctly hearing the sounds of Leliana's ravens and while he can't say he's so drunk that he's started imagining voices, he can't say that he's sober enough as to discard the possibility. He can't hope Cullen would love him, of all things, so he disregards the comment and continues staring at the window, forcing himself to think that the figure encased in shadows steps away is just a figment of his deluded and inebriated mind.

There's a chuckle a few minutes later and he sighs, the soft footsteps belying the presence of the man walking and sitting opposite to him. Not drunk enough for this either, kaffas. Of all the things he could have expected, having Cullen sitting across from him in only a soft cotton undershirt and those tight trousers Dorian loved and hated equally was one of the things he wouldn't have expected tonight, when he was drowning in self-pity. 

"Can I?" Cullen asks with amusement yet somehow timidly, his hand stretched aloof towards Dorian and for a moment he blinks dazedly, once again contemplating the figure of the man in front of him and wondering if he passed out and this is all a dream, until he sees the scarred lip stretch into a small smile and by everything holy he tries not to imagine how that smile would feel against his lips or some other less proper body parts. "Dorian?" There's a slight concerned tone in the Commander's voice when he doesn't reply but he doesn't understand where it comes from, why would he care about a Tevinter Mage? About _him_? 

Cullen still looks at him, eyes hooded, something flickering in them too fast for Dorian to figure it out and by then the blonde man blinks, sighs and smiles again, asking him for the bottle of wine in his hand.

"Why Commander, isn't it past your bedtime now?" He quips mockingly, handing the bottle and frowning when Cullen just takes a mouthful and places the bottle somewhere far enough from Dorian, his intentions clear and dawning as a bucket of cold water.

"I haven't always followed my sleep schedule, Dorian." Cullen replies, teasing, trying to lighten the mood. Dorian is too tired to care, too bruised to hope.

"I would like that back, if you don't mind." He says, any trace of amusement out of his voice as he stares down into Cullen's eyes. Cullen only looks at him, gaze warm and concerned and Dorian can feel himself squirming under it, the weight of someone pretending to care for him burning in his mind and bringing a flash of hurt and anger into him. He attempts to stretch forward, reaching for the bottle too quickly and cursing when the whole room spins around him, the sudden movement causing him to lose his balance and before he know what's happening, there's a firm body under his, and calloused hands holding him from his shoulders, the touch searing his skin as if branding it with fire.

He's not blind, nor a saint. Ever since arriving to Heaven, since the mighty Commander of the Inquisition forces held him up at Heaven's doors when he stepped in to make the announcement of impending doom coming to them, Dorian hadn't been able to shake the feeling of Cullen's hands on him. The Commander wasn't hard to look at, strong body built under years of training, skin marred with countless scars yet infinitely perfect and beautiful. Dorian was only a man. But as they managed to stablish a, dare he say, friendship, it was the man's wit, sharp mind and overall charming personality what had slowly crawled it's way into Dorian.

An amused laugh at Dorian's jokes, an embarrassed smile whenever he couldn't help it and flirted over the chess board, the fire and spark glinting in his eyes as they bantered and challenged each other, a friendly pat on the back when he came back from his rounds with the Inquisitor. He was falling, _hard_. And now, with Cullen's warm body under him, his hands securing Dorian against him, he felt terrified. He felt--

"Are you okay, Dorian?" The man's soft voice cuts through his brain and heart, settling under his ribs with tendrils of longing and shame, his hands on Cullen's chest gripping tightly and aching to let go, to run as far away as possible and then Cullen brings a hand to his chin and tips it a bit upwards, their eyes meeting for a mere second before smiling tentatively and bringing their lips together in a chaste kiss.

The sensation of the scarred lips against his is bliss, except for the fact that Cullen is probably drunk, this isn't happening, why would former Templar, current Commander of the Inquisition forces Cullen kiss him?

The sting of past voices and phantom bruises on his heart makes Dorian break the kiss with a gasp, Cullen's worried frown and soothing whispers making him writhe against the hold of the blonde, something in the back of his mind repeating the same word over and over until he could feel himself drown, heartbeat rising and pounding painfuly in his chest, the feeling agonizingly taking over his body and crushing his windpipe until he can't breathe, and he clings to Cullen's hands on his face, his lips trembling as choked gasps and breaths leave him asking  _why me, Cullen? how can YOU desire something so--_

"That's enough, Dorian." Cullen says, interrupting him, voice stern and firm breaking Dorian from his trance until all he can say is the one word that has haunted him for too much time.

_Broken._

\---

This time, when the tears fall and he breaks into a helpless cry of anguish, there are hands wiping the wetness from his cheeks, a comforting voice chasing his darkness away and a warm body holding him safe, making him feel precious, worthy... cherished.

Loved.


End file.
